


Out Of The Silence

by AnneTaylor



Series: When Wolves Fall [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Major Character Injury, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: Geralt has been kept a prisoner and tortured for days. Jaskier badly wants to make everything better. But if he does, will he simply lose Geralt again?And how does Yennefer fit into all this?Update as of 8/16: Sorry it is taking so long to get the next chapter out. I have been writing WOW novels, but I'll try to get something out by the end of the month.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: When Wolves Fall [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621207
Comments: 18
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

He was so still. It wasn’t natural. Geralt was a whirlwind of motion, a restless wandering spirit, never able to stay in one place for very long. This silent, helpless figure…the sight of him filled Jaskier with terror.

 _No_ , he told himself firmly. _Geralt’s eyes will be healed. I’ll find someone who can do greater healings. It’s magic. It can do anything._

And pay them with what? Most of what he had been making in the past year had involved a trade of services; entertainment for room and board, food and drink. He didn’t even have enough money to pay a normal healer who would, Yen was right, curse her, just seal up the wounds and send him to a big city to buy a couple of glass eyes. If he wanted. Or simply tie a sash across his disfigurement.

Geralt’s arm had slid off the bed and was hanging, broken fingers trailing on the floor. Jaskier lifted it carefully and tenderly tucked it against the witcher’s body.

So many injuries. He didn’t know where to start. Yennefer hadn’t even bothered to give him something to splint Geralt’s fingers with. She’d certainly been in a rush, all gussied up in her royal finery. Preening while Geralt suffered. Who knows where she actually went and what she was actually doing? More concerned about a witch than about Geralt.

Geralt stirred.

 _No. You weren’t supposed to wake up yet. I wanted just a little longer to pretend_ …

"Jaskier." Geralt's hand stretched out unsteadily, groping for Jaskier.

 _I don't want him to touch me_ , Jaskier told himself. _It only hurts the more when he lets go_. But he could no more deny Geralt's need than he could cut off his own fingers. He held his hand out, let Geralt find it.

The witcher's large hand closed around his. His grip was not what Jaskier had remembered it to be. Geralt pulled Jaskier's hand against his chest and covered both with his other hand. Silence fell over the room.

Jaskier wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. He'd dreamed of being in this situation; Geralt reaching out to him, in need, or maybe just in acknowledgement of what was between them. Whatever that was.

_I used to know what I wanted. I just don't, anymore. I'm so tired of being thrown away._

"It's a lot easier to see the inside of your own head when there's nothing else to look at," Geralt remarked. "Not a pleasant place. I have a job to do, and it would be impossible to do it, and to survive, if I let myself..."

"Care," Jaskier couldn't help supplying the word. It was like old times. The Witcher knew the words, he just couldn’t bring himself to voice such things. Jaskier was his voice.

But Geralt nodded. "Care. That's a good word for it. I can't care that they hate me, Jaskier. I cannot afford pride. When the urge is upon me, I buy a night with a warm body but I never let it become more than that. I cannot give out pieces of myself because once they are gone, I don't know how to take them back. Renfri nearly killed me, Jaskier. Not because she was that good with a sword, though she was. She was good. It nearly killed me because I was forced to walk away from her body, leaving it to that fucking, soft lipped bastard of a sorcerer, knowing what he was going to do to her but I couldn't stop it. Not without breaking all the promises that I had made to myself. Seeing him smirk, knowing that he had manipulated me, and her, and that I had let him do it because there was nothing else I could have done. Or maybe I'm lying to myself. Maybe I could have tried harder. If I had given her more of myself, she might still be alive.”

"From what you've told me, she was unwilling to turn from her revenge. You might have postponed it, but eventually she'd have gone after him."

"If I'd taken her with me, shown her more of what the world had to offer she might have changed. Instead, I put myself between her and that fucking sorcerer."

"You hoped she would choose you over her revenge. Instead..."

"She would have killed me to get to him. I gave her as many opportunities as I dared."

"Why didn't you simply step aside?"

"Pride, I suppose." The witcher's voice was bitter. "I had committed to my course. I had convinced myself that if she would not turn aside from murder she must be stopped. I still don't know if that was right or wrong. But it...hurt, Jaskier. It still hurts. There is a piece of me that she has carried down into death."

Jaskier thought about the people he had lost to death. His father. Mother. Julian, his first lover, held under the water and drowned by an ugly mob who didn't like the idea of men fucking other men. After that he had pursued mostly women. Not that jealous husbands were much of an improvement. But he coped with the loss by immortalizing those he had loved and lost with his music.

He had immortalized Geralt more than once. _I'm always losing you, over and over. Even when you are here_. "It is difficult to lose someone," he agreed.

"It was...unjust. What I said to you. None of it deserved. None of it true. As wrong in its own way as what I did to Renfri." Geralt's head turned back and forth, as if seeking some angle which would allow light to enter his world again. "When you said that life was too short and invited me to go away with you to the coast...you thrust yourself into my heart, into my private thoughts. I felt myself wanting to turn to you for comfort. I knew it was a mistake, but I find myself falling into want too often these days. Vesemir warned me that such a weakness marks the ends of a Witcher’s days."

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Geralt. Better than any other, I understand your needs." There was bitterness in his voice, and Jaskier regretted it immediately. He continued in a lighter tone. "I've often served them well; a meal, a bed, a hot bath and a good scrub to get the monster slime off. The hair is the worst, you know. You're always getting nasty bits near the roots and then you won't let me comb them out..."

He yelped as Geralt's hands crushed his. "I'm **sorry** , Jaskier. Fucking hell, I hate that word. I never wanted to be sorry for anything again. Not after Renfri. When I lost Yen I was angry but I wasn't sorry because I knew I hadn't hurt her, only made her angry. Yen's not...easily hurt."

"And I am."

Geralt made no reply.

Jaskier sighed. "All right. I suppose there's no use denying it. I have a heart. It can be broken. Over and over, it seems. But I won't die of a broken heart, Geralt. Don't worry over that. I pick myself up and dust myself off and write a song about it. That's where the hurt goes, into my music. You have no outlet for your pain, that's the problem. You bottle it up inside and push it down and it festers and poisons you. If you were a lesser man it would ooze out; you'd take your pain out on others, cut by cut, in acts of vengeance or violence."

"Like what I did to you."

Jaskier reached out to touch the witcher's blood clotted hair. "We have much to forgive each other, it seems." His fingers lingered on the Witcher’s cheek.

"You weren't responsible for this."

"Tell that to my heart, Geralt. I hurt you. I tried to kill you. You tell me it wasn't my fault, Geralt, but it didn't feel that way. I was suddenly so angry, so full of hate and hurt and I wanted to make you bleed. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?" Jaskier choked. "Knowing I have that inside me?"

"Yes," said Geralt. "I know. I know you better than you think I do."

"A minor revelation in and of itself," Jaskier told him lightly. "I thought you never noticed me. Unless I forced the issue." _You never ask what I have been doing, where I have been when I leave you. You barely notice when I'm there._

"I always notice you. Even when I'm drunk. Especially when I'm drunk."

"I'm not sure what that means." It seemed important, but Jaskier was afraid to read too much into the remark.

"I have tried not to love you, Jaskier. But you just wouldn't let me be. You pick at my scabs and open the windows to let the light in when all I want to do is drink in the dark. But the worst thing you do to me, Jaskier.." Geralt's voice tightened. "The worst is when you bleed. For me. Because of me."

Jaskier was stunned. It wasn't anything he had been prepared to hear from the taciturn witcher. "I didn't think you...minded."

"I don't want to." Geralt's voice was thick with emotion. "If anyone can put an end to me, Jaskier, it's you. Hearing the sound of your voice in the morning, sometimes. It makes me want things, when I know I shouldn't want at all."

"But...I thought it was Yennefer that you wanted."

"What Yen and I have...she and I are different sides to the same dark coin. You...you're the light to my darkness. Fuck...I'm even starting to sound like you, aren't I?" His mouth compressed into a half-frown.

"A little bit. That's a good thing, Geralt."

"No. It's really not." Geralt's lips twitched. "There are many things in my head best left unsaid."

Fuck. Geralt's lips were not something Jaskier should be watching right now. He felt an almost overpowering urge to bend and press his lips against those of the witcher. "Like what?"

"What part of 'better left unsaid' did you not manage to hear?"

"All of it. I want it, Geralt. What's in your head. What do I have to do to get it?"

"Fuck. Jaskier."

I can do that. Jaskier knew better than to bring that thought out into the open. "What coin do I have with you, Geralt? Surely there must be something. You don't like my music, you don't like my conversation. My silence? Will you talk to me if I promise you a week of silence?"

The witcher gave a snort. "You couldn't keep that promise, Jaskier, come on, you know you couldn't."

"Maybe not. But I'd be willing to try until I burst of it."

"You shouldn't want anything that much. Especially when it comes to me."

"It's not something I have any choice in, Geralt. Not from the moment we met. I saw you and immediately I knew, this is a man who I will be singing songs about."

"No choice," Geralt echoed bleakly. "I'm sorry, then."

"Don't be. It's what I do. Loss and pain make the best songs."

"I thought you said all your best songs were about me," Geralt reminded him.

"They are."

Silence settled over them both. It wasn't a comfortable silence, Jaskier thought. It was watchful, waiting, like the ozone in the air before a storm. "Would it be so bad, Geralt, if you let me love you? Even a little bit? Without pretense? Without worrying for the next cutting remark, or the next time you decide I'm getting too close and you need to kick me out and slam the door shut?"

"Hmmm."

He was getting too close. The witcher was shutting down; Jaskier knew the signs. "Geralt, dammit, don't keep running away from me." Impulsively he shook his hand free of Geralt's, grasped the man's face between his hands, gently, mindful of the blood and the bandage, and bent to kiss him on the lips.

It was a long kiss. Jaskier kept waiting for Geralt to push him away, to make some sign that Jaskier's attentions repulsed him. But neither of those things happened. Finally, he broke the kiss and straightened.

"Not bad," Geralt remarked. "You ought to have used some tongue, though."

"You bastard!" the words broke from Jaskier.

"What? Did you think I've never been kissed by a man before?" Geralt tucked his arms behind his head and tipped it back. "It's just a different flavor of pleasure."

"You never let on. You let me think you were only interested in women."

"I didn't want to encourage you."

"Really? Who were you trying to protect, Geralt? Me or you?"

"Both of us."

"Didn't work out so well, then, did it?"

"No. It didn't," Geralt admitted bleakly. "It's a fucking mess between us. I admit it. There. Are you happy?"

"The only one who is a fucking mess is you," Jaskier told him. "I'm going to get a cloth and clean off the blood. You're going to start attracting flies before long."

"Now who's running away?"

"I am," Jaskier admitted. He unfolded a small towel and flipped a lever above the stone bowl. Water flowed into it. He dampened the towel. "I'm a little afraid of you right now. You have a lot of sharp edges and I never know when I'm going to run into one of them." He re-seated himself on the bed and began to clean the blood from Geralt's face and throat.

"I suppose I look like I could do with a bath right now."

"You hate baths, Geralt," Jaskier reminded him.

"No. I avoid them. I don't hate them, though."

"More of the pleasure avoidance thing, then?"

"Hmmm."

"You'd bleed out into the water right now. Not a good idea. I hope Yennefer gets back with her friend, what was her name...Tress?"

"Triss. She’s Yen’s friend, and a witch. If Yen has run off to chase her I must look fucking awful, then." Geralt winced as Jaskier accidentally tore open a cut and started it bleeding again. "Never thought I'd hear you actually looking forward to Yen's presence."

"She has her benefits," Jaskier muttered. He didn't want to admit that Geralt had a point. The world was a far safer place when Jennefer of Vengenberg was on your side. If she could ever be said to be on any side other than her own.

"That she does."

It was so much harder to read the witcher's intent from just the clues in his voice. Geralt's eyes had been...so much more revealing than the man ever realized. Oh, please, do not let those eyes become just a memory for me...

When he had finished cleaning away the blood from Geralt's upper body, he took the red jar that Yennefer had given him and sprinkled the powder on all of Geralt's open cuts. The smaller ones immediately scabbed over; the larger took some time and Jaskier held the edges of the wounds together so that the scarring would not be so prominent.

Not that Geralt would notice a few more scars. The witcher grimaced as Jaskier's fingers pressed into his tender flesh. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Yennefer left me with this powder for open wounds. Don't be a baby. You've had worse."

"It's worse when I can't see it coming," Geralt complained.

"I see. I'll...give you more warning, then." Jaskier's fingers brushed along his skin, watching the muscles twitch in reaction. "This is a big one. I'll have to do it in two parts and hold the edges together as I go along."

"Go ahead." Geralt took a breath and held it.

Though he handled Geralt as gently as he could, by the time he had finished Geralt's skin was damp with sweat and he could no longer keep the pain from showing on his ashen face.

"Enough for now," Jaskier told him and pulled the blanket up, tucking it beneath his chin. "We'll tackle the...bruises and such later. Try to sleep for a while?"

"'kay." The witcher's voice was already slurring into an exhausted doze. "Jask?"

He's never called me by a pet name before, Jaskier thought. Or maybe he's just too tired to finish. "Yes."

"Don't...go away."

"I won't."


	2. In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer doesn't believe Triss is dead. She's right.

Yennefer sat cross-legged in the center of the sunlit clearing. After a full day of dealing with Foltest and his tight-assed Council of Mages who obviously didn't give a shit about helping her look for Triss, she'd simply said goodbye and walked away.

Foltest hadn't been happy about her departure. He made it clear he wanted her, both in his counsel and in his bed, but even if she hadn't had Geralt and Jaskier urgently waiting for her, she had no interest in the man or his ambitions. And she blamed him for arriving too late to save them. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but she didn’t care.

She can't be dead. She just can't. If she were, I'd know it. Bright, warm Triss, with her red hair and the devilish gleam in her eyes.

Sometimes, in her loneliness as a child, Yennefer had wished for a sister. But she never could have imagined anyone like Triss. Triss was as fearless as Yennefer, but filled with compassion. _It's the mother's milk in me_ Triss always said, but Yen was sure it was just Triss.

 _Triss. Where are you_?

The wind ruffled the scarf on her head. It still felt strange, not to have that mass of hair dragging on her head. I should regrow it. There were spells that could do that. Not yet. Not until I see this finished.

 _Is this some kind of strange ritual_ , Jaskier had asked her.

He might have been right. Once again, she had been changed. It was like a series of portals, stepping through and becoming a different person each time. It would have been frightening if she'd been the kind of person who needed to hold on to who she was.

Change was good. Change was power.

Triss, where are you? Answer me, sister of my heart...

 _Yen_? It was the barest whisper, like the touch of wind on a single trembling leaf.

_Triss. Tell me where you are._

_He's gone, Yen. I couldn't save him._

_Triss. Show me how to get to you._

Silence fell over the glade. Even the wind seemed to stop. Then, there was movement. A line appeared in the grass, tiny strands of green that bent and swayed, showing her the way. Yennefer opened a line-of-sight portal in that direction and stepped through. Again and again, until sweat plastered the material of her dress to her skin and her legs trembled with exhaustion.

She stepped out of a portal and found herself standing in a seemingly endless stand of birch trees, in front of a filthy mud hut. The yard was littered with debris; broken pots and bits of wood. The lintel was so low she had to duck as she went inside.

A man was laid out on the rude bed. Emeret. Triss’ lover. The last time she had seen Triss, she had been badly wounded from her attempt to hold the keep door at Soddem, held in her lover's arms.

A cloth had been laid over the sorcerer's eyes, covering his face. It was soaked with old blood. Triss sat on a corner, covered in shadow. The brightness in her eyes had dimmed, and grief had carved deep lines in her face.

Yennefer went to her, knelt down, knee to knee and pulled Triss against her. At first there was no response. Then, almost reluctantly, Triss' arms crept up and knotted themselves around Yennefer's waist.

I would have come, Yennefer whispered. If I'd known.

There was nothing you could have done. Emeret tried to protect me. They hit him, again and again. He wouldn't stop trying to get to me. His eyes...Yenn...his eyes... Triss’ voice broke. When they came for me, the Mother pulled me down into the earth. Protected me. By the time she released me, it was too late. Yen, if he'd only listened. He could have portaled away.

Emeret had been a talented sorcerer. Maybe he was just too distraught over Triss’ injuries to defend himself. They must have caught him with his guard down.

As they did to us all.

Triss body shook with silent sobs, hugging Yennefer to her tightly. After a time, Yennefer gave her a squeeze and firmly disentangled them from each other. “Enough, Triss. How long have you been sitting here with him?”

Triss shook her head. “Since he died. I don't know. How long has it been?”

“You've done vigil, Triss. Time to let him rest. He wouldn’t want you doing this. He’d want you to take care of yourself.”

“Yes.” There was more melancholy than grief in her voice now. “You're right. Help me?”

“You didn't need to ask.” Yennefer sent out a tendril of force and lifted him gently from the bed. _He needs a shroud_. Carefully she broke apart and removed the cloth covering his face, lengthening and thinning it, and changing the colors. Green and brown. Earth and life. The cloth fluttered down, draping him with a layer of shimmering fabric, light as a spider's web.

“It's beautiful, Yen. Thank you.” Triss stepped outside. She gazed around, selecting a spot between two paper white birch trees. The earth begin to flow, until there was a man-sized opening yawning between the trees.

Yennefer laid him gently inside, and the Earth immediately flowed back, forming a gentle mound to mark his final resting spot. I'm sorry, Triss, she thought. I wish I had time to just let you finish saying goodbye. “I need your help, Triss.”

“I know.” Triss ran her fingers along the edge of the burial mound. “The Mother told me that someone was coming, someone who would need my help. I didn't know it would be you.”

“Not for myself. It's complicated. Can you...will you...come with me?”

“I'll come.” Triss rose.

By the time they left, a soft new layer of grass had covered his final resting spot and was creeping out toward the forest. 


	3. Exploring Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yenn has found Triss, and the two of them return to Geralt and Jaskier, who have started to work things out between them. Everyone is still a little fragile, though, and working it out will take time.

Yennefer and Triss stepped through the portal into the room that had come to feel like home to the sorceress. The soft magelight that radiated from the lamps she had purchased at Vizima illuminated Geralt sprawled across her bed, snoring in soft little warfles, with Jaskier draped across the witcher's chest.

Yennefer smiled fondly down at him, hoping he had managed to work things out with his bard.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. He didn't immediately jump up, sputtering excuses. Instead, he smiled, and his eyes widened with realization. Then he noticed Yennefer, and his hand clutched Geralt's hip possessively.

That was a good sign, she supposed.

Geralt begin to stir. His hand reached out, and when it encountered Jaskier, Geralt's anxious expression relaxed.

 _Excellent. They’re doing fine_. Yennefer stood. “This is why I need your help,” she explained to Triss, handing her the box containing the unconscious raven.

Triss removed the lid, staring down at the bird in puzzlement. Then she gasped, her eyes opening wide. “Yen, this isn't a bird...of course...you already knew that, didn't you?”

“I knew. Can you help her?”

Triss’ fingers brushed over the satiny black wings. “She belongs to the mother,” she said softly. “but the mother cannot hear her. What could have done this?”

“A very evil man.”

“I cannot sense her heart. It's as if it has been buried. I need to consult with the Mother. Can you... “

Yennefer summoned a portal to the plateau, anchoring it in the crystal on her floor. Triss stepped through, and Yennefer left it open, watching as Triss seated herself on the grassy earth. The witch carefully removed the limp raven from its nest of herbs and cradled it, closing her eyes and letting her head fall forward.

If anyone could save the broken witch, it would be Triss. Yennefer remembered how she frequently drove Tissaia to frustration that occasionally ended in shouting matches when Triss insisted on ‘wasting power’ to heal wounded animals.

Emeret had loved that about her.

Tears prickled in Yennefer's eyes. She moved to stand beside Geralt's bed, looking down. _I almost lost you. It was so close_. Jaskier was right, she should have concentrated more on protecting Geralt. She grown to think of him as indestructible, with his witcher powers and healing. But death was a thief, and what it took there was no recovering.

She sat down on the bed. Jaskier’s body stiffened. The fingers curved across Geralt hip’s gripped him tightly. Jaskier stared stubbornly down at Geralt's scarred chest as if daring Yennefer to evict him from Geralt’s side.

“Jaskier?” Geralt's fingers wrapped around Jaskier's shoulder and he tried to pull the bard down against him, but Jaskier resisted.

“Now, Geralt, you'll reopen your wounds,” he chided, in a voice that was too high to be natural. “I haven’t finished…tending you.” His eyes flicked to Yennefer’s, then away.

“Yen,” Geralt begged. “Explain to him.”

Explain what? That she had no objection to watching the two of them cuddle? She didn't; actually, she found the idea rather appealing. Like watching two of your pets curl up together at the foot of your bed. Not that either of them would have appreciated the comparison.

“I don't think it's my explanation he needs to hear,” she told him gently, ruffling her fingers through his hair.

“I don't know what to say.” Geralt seemed almost on the verge of panic.

“Geralt. It's all right. I understand.” There was a defeated note in Jaskier's voice.

“No.” Yennefer was aware that her voice was tipped with acid but she was quite fed up with all the drama. However serious it might be to the two of them, it was all so unnecessary. “I'm fairly certain you don't have a fucking clue, Jaskier.” His name felt strange on her tongue. She didn't normally use it.

“He's upset. He's in pain…”

“Yes. He is. And it's your fault.”

“Why? Because I refuse to walk away and leave him to you without a fight?”

“No. Because you refuse to see that you don't have to.”

“What are you saying?” Jaskier's voice was thick.

Geralt’s hand slid down Jaskier’s arm, finding his hand and enclosing it in his own.

“I'm saying that he wants you to stay here. And he wants me to stay. Is there any reason he can't have what he wants? All of it? Especially now when he...” _When he needs us the most._

“I...” Jaskier's mouth opened and closed. “You don’t mind? You want me to stay. How would that even work?” he asked.

She gave him a wicked and, she hoped, slightly frightening smile and said “I'm very flexible.”

Jaskier blanched and his eyes strayed downward, off the edge of the bed. No doubt he was remembering some of the toys that he had seen earlier under her bed.

Yennefer resisted the sudden, unaccountable giggle that rose in her throat. _It's only post-torture stress catching up with me,_ she reassured herself. _I'm not getting soft on the bard. Really._

Jaskier's eyes avoided hers, his fingers gently stroked Geralt's chest. “I'll be here for his long as he needs me, then.”

“Good. It's settled. Now we just need to get the witch sorted out, Geralt's eyes healed, and it's back to the dragons.”

“Dragons? There are more than one of them now?” Jaskier's eyes were opened in surprise. “I mean, I saw a number of them in Zerrikania. they like the heat and the dryness. And the Zerrikanians. There's some sort of...thing going on there. Between them.”

“There's a thing going on here, too. Borch was supposed to explain it to you. Will explain it to you. Once he bothers to show up.” Yennefer scowled. She was tempted to go ahead and tell Jaskier about the dragons but was all too aware that she'd end up inserting her own particular brand of sarcasm into the telling, and that might sour Jaskier prematurely.

 _You see, Borch, I can exercise diplomacy. Given enough motivation_. Yennefer was struck with the sudden desire to portal down to the cave and see the black dragon. Has she laid her egg yet? Is my dragon child waiting for me to come?

“I see. And this thing...it's what Geralt was supposed to bring me here for?”

“It's important, Jaskier.” Geralt's voice was calmer now. He had the bard’s hand clasped with both of his.

“You keep saying that,” Jaskier complained, “but nobody will tell me why it’s important.

“It's Borch's story to tell,” Geralt told him.

“And Borch's secrets,” Yennefer muttered. She loved secrets, normally, as long as they were her secrets or she was allowed to dig them out. Keeping them for someone else...not so amusing. “I'm going to take a walk. You two keep each other amused while I'm gone.”

“What if the witch comes back? Will the portal stay open?”

“Triss will be with her. And yes.” Yennefer had managed multiple portals before. It would be a little more difficult now; her powers were still weaker than they had been and her control of chaos less precise. But she could manage. Using the anchors made things much easier.

She opened a portal to the cave’s anchor and stepped through.

* * *

The huge bulk of the black dragon lay sprawled across the crystals, a dark silhouette limned by light, in the back of the cave. There was no second egg and no sign of Borch.

Where is he? Uneasily, Yennefer wondered if something had gone wrong. Surely not. Borch was a gigantic, magical fire-breathing lizard who had managed to take care of himself for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. How long do dragons live?

Jaskier's egg lay by itself, nestled in the crook of several large crystals. The bard should be down here, touching it and doing whatever he was supposed to be doing.

It was hard to discern from the dark features, but it seemed to Yennefer that the black dragon was watching her. She wondered what the dragon was thinking. “I'll take good care of your baby,” she promised softly. “I'll protect her, and...and love her.” _As much as I can_. Yennefer wasn't sure how much love she would be capable of. Tissaia had explained to her that she was unable to make human connections because she hadn't learned how. _It's something children normally learn from their parents and you never had that opportunity_. Tissaia had taught her well, but she hadn't been kind. Tissaia preferred truth to compassion. _Feeling good about yourself won’t help you to control chaos_.

This will be different. Love responded to love; she had seen that. As long as both parties were willing. Will my dragon child love me? She tried to remember what Borch had told her about imprinting. The dragon would need her. Obey her, likely. Would there be love as well? Would she even know?

_How do people know about love?_

_They talk._

_We should talk_. The thought popped into her head and Yennefer frowned. It must have been the trauma of almost losing Geralt, and being reminded what the sorcerer had done to her. _Friends are a refuge_.

Nonsense. Friends were a nuisance. They just dropped by to borrow things. Yennefer's fingers itched to feel Geralt's rough, scarred heat beneath them. The Witcher anchored her. Reminded her of what was real. What was good in life. Touching. Having your needs attended to. Giving others pleasure and watching them groan with the wanting of it. Giving physical pleasure was easy to do, and easy to recognize. The other kind, making people happy, was beyond her. She didn’t even know what it felt like.

Though she had never intended it to be this way, Jaskier was now a part of that. Part of them. She wondered what he would taste like. What sounds he would make. Those discoveries were always the best part of exploring someone. She was suddenly eager to return.

* * *

Geralt was still on the bed, and Jaskier was wetting a cloth from her basin.

He glanced at her as she stepped through, and couldn’t quite conceal the quick flash of disappointment. Geralt’s pants were riding low on his hips, apparently, she had interrupted his bath. “Don’t mind me,” she said lightly. “I’ll just find something to read.”

Jaskier looked uncomfortable, then he frowned and his expression smoothed. “Right. Then…I’ll just carry on.” He crossed back to Geralt, sitting beside him in such a way as to block her view.

She resisted the urge to remind him that Geralt had nothing she hadn’t seen before. Many times.

The chair beside her bookcase was right next to the window. Magelight illuminated well enough, but sunshine was best for reading. She managed to read half a dozen pages before she was completely distracted by Jaskier’s attempts to wash Geralt.

If she had decided to wash Geralt, she would have dunked him in a tub of warmed water and provided him with soap. Jaskier…what he was doing was…intimate. He was blocking her view to some extent, but she could still see. Washing him carefully by hand, the folds and crannies of Geralt’s body, every inch of him, before using the powder and ointments that Yennefer had given him. It made her uncomfortable, which she hated, but at the same time, it was strangely compelling. What would it feel like, to have someone so focused on your body, your comfort with no thought to their own pleasure?

It wasn’t the first time the bard had cared for Geralt. Washed him. Anointed him with oils. Geralt had occasionally mentioned it in passing and then quickly changed the subject, and she had never cared enough to pursue the details.

Now she wished she had. Or perhaps not. It was a moment that belonged to the two of them, and she was an outsider in this. She probably shouldn’t even be watching, but then, she wasn’t a woman who changed her behavior based on “should.”

Geralt’s expression was pained. It seemed to be entirely a physical pain; he winced, and the occasional gasp would pass his lips, accompanied by a quiet murmur of apology and reassurance from Jaskier. When he wasn’t wincing his face was relaxed, almost peaceful.

He never looks like that when he’s with me.

The thought made her sad. Do I have the right to seek to be a mother, when there’s nothing in me of the mother? The nurturer. Triss would have made a good mother. Jaskier would make a good…parent. She and Geralt… _I’ll try. I promise I’ll try. I’ll learn_.

And then Triss screamed.


	4. To Save A Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer wants the witch saved. Jaskier has objections. It's all up to Triss.

“Triss!” Yennefer tossed her book aside and flung herself to her feet. She strode toward the portal.

Geralt sat up in bed, ignoring Jaskier’s attempts to keep him prone. He slid off the bed, pulling his pants back up to his waist. “Yen. Where’s my sword””

She ignored his question and hurried to Triss, who was still sitting cross-legged in the grass. Yennefer looked around. There was nobody in sight. Why had Triss screamed?

Triss’ eyes were closed. She rocked back and forth, a look of agony on her face. The crow had not moved, it lay, limp, in Triss’ hands.

“It’s all right,” Yennefer told Geralt and Jaskier. “Not an attack. I think Triss is inside the witch’s head.”

“Then it might be an attack,” Geralt ground out. “Let me kill the thing before it injures Triss.”

“She wouldn’t thank you for it,” Yennefer told him.

A low moan broke out from between Triss' lips. Her head pivoted from side to side as if she were denying what she was seeing.

The bird's wings switched feebly. It tumbled to the ground and lay, limbs askew.

“No,” Triss groaned. “You cannot do that. Sweet Mother. You must not.” Her arms wrapped around her body and she shivered.

One of the crow’s legs curled inward, and then the other. Its beak bent down upon its breast, wings flopping spasmodically.

“Not to a life bearer. Not to one sworn to the Heart of the Mother.” She keened, a shrill grief-stricken cry that pierced Yennefer's heart and raised the hairs on her arms.

Jaskier placed himself in front of Geralt, who firmly and deftly evaded the bard’s attempts to block him. He looked much stronger than he had. The medicines must have helped.

“Bastard! With all the power that is in me, I swear I'll consign your putrid, black soul to the eternal abyss!” Triss came up out of her trance raging, eyes wild and tears streaming down her face. She flung herself to her feet. “Tell me the bastard is still within my grasp. Tell me he is still alive!”

Geralt looked...uncomfortable. “Sorry?”

“Fuck! Tell me at least one of you pissed on his miserable corpse afterwards.”

“Err, no. But Yennefer stabbed him a few dozen times through the eye sockets and the spine,” Geralt told her. “He wasn't a pretty corpse, if that helps at all. And we left him to be…” he trailed off.

 _We left him to be mourned by his victim_ , Yennefer thought. Poor witch. What horrors had they left her alone with, walking away, all unknowing? “I'm sorry, Triss. If we had only known...”

“I know,” Triss whispered brokenly. “You couldn't have. She was still in his thrall. Poor thing. Poor broken little heart. Even after his death she was still forced to carry out his commands, with no hope that it would ever end, or that anyone would ever know...”

The bird had ceased to move. One wing was flung out, splayed, feathers spread wide as if attempting to hide the tightly curled body from their site.

“Can you help her, Triss?” Yennefer crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I'm going to join with her. This is a good place for it. Earth is strong. Life is strong. Those are my elements. Our elements. She needs to be reminded that...that there is good left in the world, and that she can still be returned to it. She is not beyond redemption. I will make her see that, Yen.”

“If anyone can save her, you can. Who is she?”

“In Cintra, long ago, she was known as the Dawnsinger. She was a healer and she sang in the dawn each morning for the Mother.”

Triss stooped and gathered up the bird, tucking its wings tenderly against its body. Her fingers brushed gently over the crow's feathers. “She thinks the Mother has rejected her, but she did that herself. To save the mother from such pain as might drive even a goddess to despair. I need to force her back to herself, to speak with her. Somewhere she won’t feel…judged.”

Yennefer hugged her tightly and released Triss, stepping back. “Use my room. We’ll give you some privacy. Take as much time as is necessary. We'll be waiting for you beyond the portal when this is finished. One way or the other.” She grabbed a handful of blankets.

They all filed out; Yennefer, somber and still angry, though she had no target for her anger. Geralt, led by a hollow-eyed Jaskier, his hand wrapped around the Witcher’s arm.

They all gathered outside, buffeted by the wind and seated in the rustling grasses, beside the broad expanse of water that sparkled like a bright promise in the sun.

Geralt's hair scraped over his face, his head lifted into the wind, catching the scents.

They sat in silence for a time. One of the long-legged birds watched them curiously.

“I was wrong,” Jaskier said hoarsely. He raised his eyes, swimming with unshed tears. “What I said to you. About the witch. Before. What I said to you about him.” His eyes flicked to Geralt. “You were seeing more clearly than I was.”

Yennefer gave him a smile that she hoped looked reassuring and not just tense. “That's my job, now, according to Borch. It is a job I have been trained to all my adult life. To control. Not to allow emotion to sway me. Only once in my life I abandoned that control and thousands of people died.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “And many more were saved, I hope. Foltest never gave me an accounting.”

Jaskier looked confused.

“The Siege of Soddem Hill.”

“King Foltest stopped them...I had heard,” he said carefully.

“After I and my fellow mages had kept them blocked.” A strand of hair blew into Yennefer's mouth and she spat it out. “At the cost of their lives. Only Tissaia and Triss and I and a few more survived. They marched on us. Thousands of them. We fought. We held the gate. But there were too many of them. And they didn’t fight fair. We were taken down by trickery, betrayed from within.” Through no fault of their own… “Until there were only a few of us left. And they just kept coming.”

“What did you do?” Jaskier stared at her, wide eyed.

“I opened the gates of my hate and let it consume them.” Burning, screaming, a thousand lives all snuffed out in an instant...she had reveled in every one, felt every pain which dragged her down a little farther into death. Tissaia known she was ready. Had she also known Yennefer wouldn't be able to take that last step?

“There are rumors. A crater the size of a small city. A forest of burnt corpses. That was you?”

“That was me.” She stared at Jaskier curiously, wondering what his expression would tell her.

“Fuck me,” he said finally. “That is a song worth writing.”

Geralt snorted. “You are so predictable, Jaskier.”

Yennefer lay back against the grass, stretching out her legs and tucking her arms beneath her head. She took in a long breath and let it out, exhaling a tenseness that she hadn’t even realized had grown in her. “Perhaps I'll tell you about it someday, about the price we all paid. But not now.”

Time passed.

Jaskier sat, cross-legged, staring up into the sky and humming softly to himself.

Yennifer slept for a time.

Geralt sat, legs stretched out, head up, listening. Waiting. Finally, he curled up on his side.

Jaskier fetched a blanket and covered Geralt. He handed another to Yennefer. They all huddled together, one on either side of Geralt, sheltering him from the wind. Not that he needed it, Yennefer thought. He’d slept in much colder places with less protection. She and Jaskier needed it. Geralt never asked for anyone to protect him, or to care about him. He deserved it, though. More than the world would ever know.

The wind, and Jaskier, played them into a troubled sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss and the witch return. Jaskier doesn't trust her any father than he can throw Geralt. Some tenseness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...this is rather a short chapter. I'll try to finish the story when I can. Assuming anyone is still reading it..?

The stars had begun to fade from the sky and the air had a distinct chill by the time Triss reappeared, leading a hunched figure, draped in Yennefer's cloak. The witch, who had taken her human form, if it could be called that, watched them with eyes as cold and dead as stone. Her clasped hands were bone white, her features sharp as a corpse’s, flesh pulling back from the bones of her face.

Jaskier held his ground as she approached, standing between her and Geralt. His hand closed about the handle of his knife, then released it with the look of horrified memory. “What's going on?” His voice was too high, the look in his eyes fiercely protective.

“Jaskier?” Geralt's hands slipped over his shoulders. “What?”

“It's all right,” said Triss. Her voice was husky with sadness. “She's come to begin her atonement.”

Jaskier didn't look convinced or impressed. “I don't like it. Geralt. Do you trust her?”

Geralt pulled the bard back against him. “I trust Triss. Yen?”

“Everything looks all right.” Yennefer didn't sense any magics, dark or otherwise, passing between the witch and Triss.

The witch took a step closer, then another. Her pitiless eyes fastened on Geralt's face.

“Keep her away!” Jaskier held out his hand. “She looks like death itself.”

“How truly the boy speaks.” The witch’s bloodless lips curled up. “Not truly death, More's the pity.”

“Take the first step,” Triss urged her. “That is all that is needed for now. The first atonement. Let your feet find the path that you once walked.”

“You're a fool,” muttered the witch. “A bright, lovely fool, all sunshine and rainbows. But I will do as you have asked, for all the good that will come of it in the end.” She stretched out her hand.

“No.” Jaskier drew his knife.

“Stand down, Jaskier,” Yennefer ordered. “Geralt. He needs to stand aside.”

“Jaskier. Trust me? They won't let me be harmed.”

“Little late for that, don't you think? No,” he said as Geralt tried to push him out of the way. “I'm staying here. She can...do whatever she's going to do. But I'll be right here, whatever happens.”

“I wish you wouldn't.” Geralt's arms folded over Jaskier's chest. Yennefer could see his breath puffing out Jaskier's hair. Interesting. The two of them seem to be getting quite close. She wondered what was going on in Geralt's mind. Surely he wouldn't have let things go so far if he intended to push the bard away again?

Geralt had the habit of ignoring things he didn't want to think about. Or pushing them aside. And having lived for so long caught up in the delusion that he was without emotions, he often made the mistake of assuming that emotions simply weren't important.

That was a very big mistake. A huge one.

“What do you want me to do?” The old witch gazed at Geralt, her expression without pity or remorse.

“It is not for us to decide,” said Triss. She came up behind the woman and put her hands on the witch's shoulders. “Open yourself to the Mother. Lay down your will. Lay down your pain.”

“The Mother!” The word was a choked cry of agony. “She wants nothing to do with me.”

“If what you say is true then nothing will happen. Have faith, sister.”

“I'm no sister of yours,” the witch muttered. With an effort, she smoothed her face, closed her eyes and waited.

Something came up through the ground. Yennefer felt it, like a fog, drifting over her senses. It tinkled across her nerves like icicles on a winter breeze. Goosebumps rose across her arms. It was not a forgiving magic, not kind and definitely not the healing sort. Still, although it was stern and implacable it did not feel vengeful. It whispered of a wrongness that must be addressed, a darkness that must be chased away, a sickness that must be drained.

Jaskier gasped, and Geralt’s hands tightened around him.

The witch screamed. Pain. Loss. Hopelessness. She clawed at her face, drawing blood.

“Leave it be, sister.” Tris captured her hands and pulled her down, rocking the woman is if she had been a child. Where her eyes had been, now two ruined pits occupied the areas beneath her brows. “The pain will pass. The mother has accepted your offering.”

Geralt's hands rose slowly to the blindfold that still wrapped around his face. He peeled it away. His yellow gold eyes met Yennefer's.

Relief spilled through her. She smiled at him

“Jask.” Geralt turned the bard around to face him. “It's okay now. See?”

“Your eyes!” Jaskier grabbed the witcher's head and dragged it down into a wild kiss. Then, as Geralt stiffened, he released Geralt and demanded anxiously “What's wrong? You told me before that you...”

“Nothing's wrong,” Geralt said hastily, avoiding Yennefer's eyes. “You just surprised me, that's all.”

Geralt? Shy? Yennefer gave a wicked laugh. It's too bad I didn't spend more time with both of them in Rinde. With large groups of people there were so many possibilities and nobody ever had reason to feel self-conscious.

No, certainly it wasn't Geralt who was shy. He’d never shown signs of it in the past. Protecting Jaskier, then. How sweet. She did love it when Geralt was sweet. Yennefer picked up the scattered blankets from the ground into tucked them beneath her arm. “Triss? What do you want us to do?”

“We’ll stay here for a time. Not too close to the hill, the Mother has no contention with dragons. We will be on the far side, out of sight. After that...I'll let you know. Will you continue to wear this from time to time?” She pointed to the bracelet of seashells that the witch had flung at Jaskier when Geralt had been taken. It was still on Yennefer's wrist.

Yennefer touched it. She'd forgotten she was wearing it. “Only if you wear the other half.”

Triss slipped the bracelet from the witch's wrist and placed it on her own. She smoothed the woman's hair down and patted her before rising to her feet and going to embrace Yennefer.

“Be well,” she whispered, then added, slyly, “Congratulations. They're both quite beautiful. And so lovely together.” She glanced at Jaskier and Geralt, who were tangled together, Geralt's face pressed against Jaskier's hair. Jaskier looked blissful, Geralt was...uncertain.

 _Ah, Geralt. Put a sword in your hand and drop you in a nest of drowners, and you are in your element_. Or offer a night of hot and sweaty sex, and the witcher would never be in doubt as to how the situation should be handled. Forced to deal with his own feelings, and those of someone who he cares about…

Yennefer conjured up a portal. “Come on, you two. Let's go have a little talk.” Jaskier frowned, but then, realizing that his only other choice would be to stay with Triss and the witch, he quickly led Geralt through the portal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is coming so slowly. I have three series going at the same time in AO3, plus working FT and being a mom. But I will finish it.


End file.
